God, where do I start? How does one distill the greasy lifeblood of Isla Vista’s best-loved pizza joint into a couple measly paragraphs? It’s going to be difficult to do this street corner haunt the justice it deserves, but I will certainly give it my all. While I’m just a lowly journalist/silly lil’ jokester, I also possess a genuine lust for a hot slice with the thinnest crust possible, and Pizza My Heart was the only place in I.V. that could take me all the way — none of that second base, hand stuff only type shit. Neither the fluffy, garlicky crusts at Woodstock’s, nor the familiar selections at Domino’s could ever satiate me. No, only PMH served my preferred 17-to-1 ratio of toppings, sauce and cheese to crust. Call me a monster if you want. I will live and die by my truth.
“When the moon hits your eye / Like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.” These words, beautifully sung by the late Dean Martin, could not have been truer. Martin describes the act of gazing upon a moon that looks like a “big pizza pie” as an experience akin to getting swept off your feet. Pizza My Heart was no exception to this romantic metaphor. Every time a belligerently drunk 19-year-old would sink their teeth into a cheesy slice of joy — which was definitely broiling hot after sitting under a heat lamp for half a workday — I have no doubt that they were gripped with an overwhelming sensation of happiness. Maybe even … love.
There’s nothing like fighting through a tangled briar of parked bikes before ordering a fresh batch of hot wings or a sexy slice of Big Sur. Working for my food makes the pizza that much more delectable. Like Miley Cyrus said, “Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side / It’s the climb.”
To those who may not mourn Pizza My Heart’s absence due to the existence of other (lesser) pizza places such as Woodstock’s and Domino’s, I say this: Where else can you consume a thin-crust piece of heaven while gazing upon a dizzying collage of surf-themed memorabilia? Where else can you spend your whole meal unsticking your thighs from the plasticky lacquer of red booth seats? Where else can you consume 40 whole cloves of garlic on a pizza in front of your unsuspecting Bumble date? Fuck you! Who do you think you are? You think you’re better than me? Huh? You’re nothing. You’ll never be anything more than a slave to ideology. You pizza sheep. You sicken me.
The way I see it, PMH fought honorably through the ranks of two other ‘za joints to secure a stable spot as one of the most popular restaurants in Isla Vista. While it lacks the central locale and happenin’ atmosphere of Woodstock’s or the established international reputation of Domino’s, Pizza My Heart’s dedication to novel flavors, fun surf decor and high-quality ingredients makes it a shining star that will always have a “pizza” my heart!
Miss Informed is just glad she still has two options when avoiding dining hall pizza.